


be unbroken or be brave again

by delimeful



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is the Dragon Witch, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Being an Idiot, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Monster Hunters, we love him anyways though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21901087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delimeful/pseuds/delimeful
Summary: The Knight’s head had snapped over to look at Virgil the moment he’d called out, and now they were frozen in a silent staring contest. Virgil let his gaze dip slightly to the sigil on the Knight’s shoulder, and paled at the sight of it. It was the Faerin coat of arms.A Knight from the Faerin Kingdom, known far and wide to be the most vicious and merciless to Dragonwitches. A Knight from an empire that he knew didn’t care about collateral damage any more than the dirt under their feet.A Knight that could hurt Patton, if his friend got back to camp while Virgil was fighting the stranger.-Tracked down by an obnoxious and determined knight, a Dragonwitch and his closest friend are drawn into a mystery they thought they'd left behind.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 19
Kudos: 257





	1. Knight and Day

Virgil frowned, studying the tracks on the ground. Horse hooves, but more importantly, the treads of heavy boots. The same boots that had been following them from a slowly-decreasing distance for months now. He sighed, scuffing his own bare foot against the ground. 

The hunter was gaining ground too fast for comfort. 

If he had been alone, he could have lost the human easily. Would have lost him on day one, in fact. The reason his kind were so hard to track was because of their ability to take off and vanish into thin air, after all. Assuming they weren’t too busy starting massive fires, that was. 

Still, he wasn’t alone, and he had no plans to reveal his true self to the one person alive that tolerated him, so walking it was.

He turned to circle back around to camp, his leathery wings fluttering once on his back. It was dumb of him to let the glamor down in the open like this, but he couldn’t help but want to release the spell whenever he got the chance. It was taxing, hiding a bunch of his true features all the time, even in sleep. He would put it back up before he got to camp, but for now his horns and scales would stay, the same deep violet purple as his wings and tail. 

Those features were undoubtedly the reason the hunter was after them in the first place, probably to harvest his parts or slay him for the greater good or whatever nonsense Knights were always spouting about their reasons for murdering a whole species. He grit his teeth, fangs pressing into his lips near hard enough to cut.

He was used to such treatment, but Patton was perfectly human, and now he too was in danger because of Virgil. He should have taken more measures to hide their trail, shouldn’t have let the hunter catch his scent. Maybe he should have killed the last few that came after him. He imagined the look on Patton’s face if he ever found out and shook his head to dismiss the thought. He was as soft as ever when it came to humans, and he’d continue to be that way until he inevitably died. Probably his mom’s fault.

… Whatever. He’d make up some excuse to get him and Patton on the road again, take some shortcuts to lose their pursuer, and be more careful in the future. Lesson learned. 

A scraggly-looking tree he had marked earlier reminded him that he was getting closer to the clearing, and he quickly touched the stone between his collarbones to re-cast the glamor. It settled onto him like a heavy cloak, his senses becoming slightly muted, and he made sure to check his reflection in one of his daggers before moving on.

The clearing was fairly quiet, shielded from view by thick brush, but he could hear the soft movements of someone shuffling about in the dirt. Patton had already gotten back from gathering kindling, then. He pulled the canteens from his bag, to show that he had completed his own task.

“Hey, Pat, I found a river near-” His voice cut off as he realized that the man crouched in their campsite wasn’t Patton.

He was tall, with heavy leather armor covered in red sigils over every inch of him, kneeling in the dirt with one hand brushing the footprints that the two occupants had left in the camp. The same exact thing Virgil had been doing only minutes ago. Unquestionably a hunter by attire alone. 

The Knight’s head had snapped over to look at Virgil the moment he’d called out, and now they were frozen in a silent staring contest. Virgil let his gaze dip slightly to the sigil on the Knight’s shoulder, and paled at the sight of it. It was the Faerin coat of arms. 

A Knight from the Faerin Kingdom, known far and wide to be the most vicious and merciless to Dragonwitches. A Knight from an empire that he _knew_ didn’t care about collateral damage any more than the dirt under their feet. 

A Knight that could hurt Patton, if the human got back to camp while Virgil was fighting him.

Without another thought, he bolted, the canteens dropping to the ground as he fled. There was a yell behind him, and he felt a wave of relief as the sound of footsteps took off behind him, a glance over his shoulder confirming that he was being chased doggedly. The Knight was taking the bait. Patton would be safe.

Now all he had to worry about was saving his own skin. 

He sprinted through the forest, twisting and ducking in case the Knight had projectiles. Maybe he didn’t even have to fight him. If he could outstrip the guy, he could double back and lose him, go back to the camp and get Patton and book it-

_Twang!_

He barely had time to register the thin, near-invisible wire he’d plowed through before something heavy and rough hit him head on, knocking him to the ground. He twisted around and dropped the glamor, trying to flare his wings and tail to get the offending object off, but it only got him more tangled in the metal netting. The trap- for what else could it be?- was weighed down at the edges by solid metal balls, so he couldn’t even rise to his feet to try and keep running. 

In a moment of desperation, he reached for the power of his other form, the one already snapping for control like a cornered animal. Nothing. The metal burned unnaturally against his skin, no doubt enchanted for the very purpose of holding him.

Loud footsteps made him still for a moment, and he summoned up a hateful glare as the Knight approached with an air of casualness. The bastard didn’t even seem out of breath. 

“Gotcha.” He said, voice arrogant, and Virgil snarled inhumanly at him between pants. “Oh, don’t be like that. Not my fault you were too slow.” 

He stepped closer, ignoring the threatening growl building in Virgil’s chest, and grabbed the upper arch of his left wing, entangled firmly in netting. He jerked away anyways, trying to thrash the limb, but the Knight’s grip held firm, fingers digging into the delicate flesh. “Let go!” 

“In a second, in a second.” The Knight’s face fell into a frown, deepening the longer he stared at the wing he was pulling on. “I suppose they look black in the right lighting…” He hummed, releasing the wing and circling back around to face Virgil from the front with a speculative gaze. 

Virgil’s lip curled up into a sneer. With the focus on his wings and scale color, this guy had to be a skinseller. Perfect. Just what he wanted to deal with today. _Not._

The Knight flipped an ornate dagger from hand to hand, wandering slowly into range. He threw the dagger into the air with a frankly unnecessary amount of flair, and Virgil followed the shine of the blade carefully. “Committed any notable atrocities lately, monster?”

“Nothing more atrocious than that outfit.” Virgil shot back, voice rough and gravelly. He eyed the distance between the Knight’s hand and his teeth speculatively. Just a bit closer…

The knight placed a hand on his chest in a dramatic gesture of offense. “Honestly, you must be delirious with stress to think I look anything other than fantastic.” He cast a judgmental eye at Virgil’s own appearance. “Maybe delirious with heatstroke, under all that black. I wonder, does the color of your terrible clothing choices carry over to your true form, beast?”

“Bite me,” Virgil spat, and then lunged at the Knight’s nearest hand, dagger be damned. The longer he kept this one occupied, the longer Patton had to realize something was wrong and get out of there. 

Unfortunately, the Knight was quicker. His target was yanked out of biting reach, and then fingers promptly wrapped around one of his horns and tugged, driving his face into the ground. He grunted in pain as something in his nose gave way with a pop, and warm blood started to drip down over his mouth.

“Nice try, Bitey,” the Knight said, ignoring the low, rumbling growl radiating from Virgil’s chest. He planted the dagger in the dirt, inches from his bloody face. “Now, how about you make this easier on yourself and tell me the scale color of your little friend you meant to meet back in that camp? What was their name… Pat?” 

Virgil stiffened, his tail lashing back and forth as much as it could while so entangled. “Fuck me and my big mouth,” he mumbled incoherently into the ground, grimacing at the taste of dirt. 

“What was that?” the Knight asked, pulling him upright so he could breathe properly again. Virgil cleared his throat a few times as though about to speak, and then opened his mouth and spat a mixture of blood, mud, and spit directly into the Knight’s face. 

The Knight dropped him like a hot potato. “Ugh, come on!”

He sounded so disgruntled that Virgil couldn’t help but laugh hoarsely from where he was laid out on the ground. “Too gross for you, _Your Highness?_ ” 

The hunter stiffened, pausing in the process of wiping his face to stare at Virgil with surprise. Virgil’s lips curled up slightly, vindicated by the hunter’s reaction. _Got it in one._

He bared his fangs in an unfriendly smile. “You think you’re being subtle? I’ve met plenty of hunters, and only idiots and nobility wear Faerin’s crest and finery like a badge of honor. Congrats on fitting in both categories.” 

The Knight scowled at him, hooking a hand in the wires and hauling him up by the shirt. Virgil managed to brace himself just before the Knight slammed him up against a tree, and he hissed a pained breath through his teeth as the bark scraped against his back and the soft in-between flesh of his wings. 

“And how many of those hunters are still around?” the Knight asked, deadly serious as he pressed his other arm against Virgil’s throat and leaned forwards until they were only inches apart. “How many did you kill? How did you slaughter them?” 

Virgil almost rolled his eyes at the dramatics of it all, struggling to breathe through the damn bloody nose. If he’d killed those hunters, there was no way this idiot would have ever caught wind of him, let alone tracked him down like this. Knights were all the same. They only heard what they wanted to hear.

“Come on, you already know. I did what you’re supposed to do with trash,” he rasped, inhaling deeply enough to make his lungs ache from the pressure. A purple haze began to leak from his lips. “Burned it.” 

The Knight’s eyes widened, and he leaned back as Virgil clicked the sparkscales in the back of his throat and ignited a breath of deep purple flame directly into the hunter’s face. He held it for as long as he could, his exhale finally sputtering out seconds later. 

The Knight stared back at him, unimpressed. His eyebrows were slightly singed, but the rest of him remained completely intact, courtesy of the protective charms embedded in his armor. The sigils glowed and pulsed like hot coals. “Did you really think that would work?” 

“Nah,” Virgil admitted, and then drove his knee into the Knight’s groin with all the force he could muster. “But this will.”

The Knight made a noise that sounded like a mix between a mouse’s dying squeak and the wheeze of someone getting all the air punched out of their lungs. Virgil grinned with immense satisfaction at the way his skin paled to the color of spoiled milk, and then took advantage of his loosened grip to slam his forehead against the Knight’s with a resounding _crack._

“Freaking ow!” the Knight recoiled, finally letting go of him to step out of range. As soon as he was released, Virgil’s legs gave out from under him, leaving him collapsed at the base of the tree trunk. He had planned to try and stay upright, maybe make a grab for the dagger or even just make some progress on untangling the net, but… 

“What in the underworld is your skull _made of?_ ” he screeched, trying to blink away the spots in front of his eyes. It felt like he’d headbutted a concrete wall instead of a normal human. “Do you have rocks in there instead of a brain?” 

“ _Me?_ ” the Knight scowled, pointing at him imperiously. “What did you think you were going to achieve? Who in their right mind uses dirty street fighting without being able to run away after? You’re wrapped in _a net!_ ” 

“Oh, I dunno,” Virgil really did roll his eyes this time, “maybe someone who doesn’t want to _die?_ ” 

The Knight stopped short, and turned away to take a deep breath before facing Virgil again with a less harsh expression. “Look, I admire your tenacity,” he admitted. “I’m looking for a particular dragonwitch, and I doubt that you’re it. I don’t want to kill you. You don’t even have to tell me anything that would give me an advantage in a fight against your friend. If you’ll just tell me what they look like, I can escort you to become a protected citizen of Faerin.”

Virgil snorted. “Oh, so I can have my powers suppressed and die slowly of tar-lung working in some harvester mine instead?” And that was if an uppity Knight didn’t randomly decide to execute him for existing too loudly. Protected citizen, his ass. “I’ll pass.” 

“Yes, your powers would be sealed for everyone’s safety. And dragonwitches can’t get tar-lung.” The Knight frowned at him in reprimand, and Virgil almost pitied him for his sheltered naivety. He’d be in for a rough time in towns after he passed the range of his kingdom’s influence. Everyone hated dragonwitches, but a fair few hated Faerin as well.

Oh well. Not his problem.

“Even if that was in any way appealing, I’m not the type to sell out my friends,” Virgil flared his wings one last time, as though the net would suddenly decide to answer his pleas and fall away. Instead, the metal only cut into his wings harder, and he dipped his chin to touch his soulstone, his glamor settling back over him and his aching wings fading into non corporeality. If the hunter wanted to kill a monster, he’d make himself look as human as possible.

He leaned his head back against the tree, tilting his chin up in challenge. Pinned behind his back, his hands trembled. “Be more merciful your kingdom, hunter, and give me a quick death.” 

As expected, the jab at his kingdom made his expression darken with anger. Chauvinists. So predictable.

“I already offered you mercy, and you refused it.” The Knight pulled a broadsword from its scabbard with a scraping of metal, and Virgil clenched his hands into fists, keeping his gaze locked with the hunter’s. How was he planning to strike? The head or the heart? Could he dodge like this? For how long? Was there a point?

“I suppose we’ll see if your body will lure your friend out of hiding.” The Knight lifted his blade high, the tip poised to stab down through Virgil’s heart.

In the next moment, a human-sized blur dove out of the trees, tackling him from the side with a battle cry and knocking the hunter clear off his feet. They both went tumbling, the sword sliding across the ground far out of reach of any party, and Virgil stared at his savior in disbelief. Who would be stupid enough to attack a Faerin Knight within the kingdom’s borders, all alone-?

The attacker sat up from where he was half-straddling the Knight, twisting to check on Virgil. “Are you okay?” he cried, face strained with worry. 

“ _Patton?_ ” Virgil’s voice went up an octave, fear surging through him. He started clawing desperately at the netting again. “Patton, no, no no _no_ you have to run! Get out of here!” 

The human’s face furrowed in confusion. “Wha-?” 

In the next moment, the hunter had surged up and reversed their positions, pinning Patton to the ground by his shoulders. Virgil lunged forwards and let out an inhuman screech as he toppled over, his struggles only making the trap tighten against his flesh further. 

“Aha!” the Knight declared, and pulled a waterskin from his belt triumphantly. He tugged the cap off with his teeth and splashed the liquid inside all over Patton’s face. 

Patton spluttered, completely unharmed. “Rude! What is _the matter_ with you? Why are you attacking Virgil, he didn’t do anything to you!” 

The Knight gaped, shocked enough that Patton was able to shove him off and climb back to his feet. “What- you’re human?” 

Virgil tried to push himself into an upright position, his blood still rushing in his ears from the scare. “Patton, please, you’ve got to get out of here!”

Patton, the wonderful idiot, gasped at the sight of him, bloodied and bruised, and immediately headed towards him. “Don’t worry, Virgil! I’ll help you!”

Virgil resisted the urge to groan, and then tensed against the net again as the Knight grabbed Patton’s wrist to stop him. “Wait!”

“Oh, what now?” Patton asked scornfully, with the sort of _this-better-be-good_ expression that would have had Virgil properly abashed for at least an hour.

The Knight barely faltered, a testimony to his bravery. “You don’t have to listen to this foul beast’s orders anymore! You’re free.” And there was a testimony to his idiocy.

“What foul beast?” Patton’s frown only grew more severe as the Knight gestured expansively to Virgil’s entangled form. He pulled his wrist free to jab a finger into Roman’s chest. “That’s Virgil, and I don’t know what ale you’ve been drinking, _sir,_ but it must have gone sour, because he’s just as human as you and me!” 

Virgil felt a chill go down his spine. Now that he wasn’t imminently facing the worst possible scenario (Patton dying), he had enough clarity to be terrified about facing the second-worst possible scenario (Patton finding out he wasn’t human). The Knight looked between the two of them, gaze settling on Virgil, probably easily reading the guilt written all over his face.

“You’ve been tricked,” he voiced his realization aloud, and held a hand up to stop Patton from going further. “Not to fear! I can prove my claim to you. I have an elixir that destroys any glamor upon contact. I’ll show you.” 

Ignoring Patton’s protests, the Knight strode up to where Virgil was propped up on one arm, his lips thin with anger. Virgil leaned back as he knelt next to him and met cold eyes, knowing it was meaningless to plead but desperate enough to try anyways. “Please.”

“Were you planning on granting that man a merciful death when you got tired of toying with him, demon?” the Knight asked with a voice like ice. Virgil didn’t even have time to open his mouth before the waterskin was upended over his head.

The elixir _burned_ as all human magic did, and as he hissed, his glamor cracked away like ash to reveal his slitted pupils, his pointed ears, his dark scales. All irrefutable proof of his true nature. 

A sharp inhale made him look up, and he met Patton’s shocked gaze. “V… Virgil?” 

The fear in Patton’s soft brown eyes was like a physical blow. He looked away, noting the way the Knight stood between him and Patton protectively. He’d retrieved his sword.

“You can see the truth, clear as day,” the Knight spoke gently, but his words were harsh. “This is no friend of yours. The monster was only pretending to be human to lull you into a false sense of security. It’s a… common tactic for dragonwitches that prefer to,” the Knight grimaced, “play with their food. I’m sorry.”

“Virgil? That’s not true… is it?” Patton sounded near tears, and though he’d had nightmares about this exact scene frequently, he had never realized the way it would hurt, to hear his only friend doubt him. 

He opened his mouth, the words all on the edge of forming. Of course it wasn’t true! He would die before he hurt Patton, he would do anything to keep him safe. The very idea that he would ever devour his friend made him feel as though he was a second from throwing up.

All these defenses and more sprang to his mind, clamoring over each other, and yet- 

His mouth shut with a click. What would happen if he convinced Patton of his innocence? What would the Knight do? What would _Patton_ do, to protect him? If there was one thing Faerin Knights excelled at, it was killing innocents. He was still trapped. He couldn’t do anything if the Knight turned his blade on Patton. 

He had to make sure Patton wouldn’t put himself at risk like that. He… He would do anything to keep Patton safe.

Even if that meant being the villain the Knight wanted to slay. 

Virgil swallowed thickly, forcing away the desolation to focus on what mattered. If he had to put on a show, it would have to be convincing. Patton would never believe it otherwise.

He let the last scraps of the glamor fall away, let his face shutter off into something dismissive and uncaring. “So you got me. I just wanted an easy meal at hand, is that such a crime?”

The knight stood tall, proud of having broken through a monster’s disguise. He looked down at Virgil with disgust. “Eating people _is_ and probably _always has been_ a crime, yes.”

He shrugged with loose shoulders. “S’not my fault snacks are so easy to fool these days.” His eyes caught Patton’s again, and he forced himself not to look away from the heartbroken expression. “If you really thought we were friends, you’re even stupider than I thought. Looks like your family really did pick the wrong one to die for.”

Patton’s face crumpled immediately, and he let out a sob. The Knight stepped in front of him, blocking Virgil’s gaze. His eyes dropped to the sword in his hand, and he felt a twisted sort of relief that he wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that he’d just said those awful things, that he’d taken what Patton had confided in him and turned it into something sharp to hurt him with. 

“Don’t worry. He won’t be able to hurt you or anyone else, anymore,” the Knight reassured Patton, and stepped forward with menace in every movement. 

Virgil forced himself to stay still, squeezed his eyes shut and ignored his racing heart. He was silent as the prince raised his blade, compliant because if it meant it wouldn’t be turned on Patton then it was worth it. It would always be worth it. 

He waited for the swing of the blade, the last thing he would ever hear- 

_Clunk._

The Knight made a strangled sound. Virgil’s eyes opened of their own accord, watching as the hunter swayed on his feet, his eyes rolling back in his head, and then collapsed bonelessly onto the ground. 

Just behind him, Patton stood, clutching a rock the size of his head in both hands. He was looking down at the fallen Knight with an expression that was just as stunned as Virgil felt, and dropped the rock to the forest floor with a thud. 

He took an uncertain, wobbling step towards Virgil, and he couldn’t help but flinch back because anything Patton did to him right now would be justified, but it would still _hurt-_

-and then there were suddenly trembling arms around him, tugging him into a hug against a warm chest. He froze, body stiff. “Patton…?” 

“You are a terrible liar,” Patton informed him wetly, “and you’re my best friend, you dummy. Human or not.” 

His voice was thick with tears, hitching with every breath, but it was devoid of hatred or fury or fear that in that moment, Virgil had never heard anything so comforting. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, and then, as though the words had broken a dam of tension within him, he immediately started muffling his own strangled, hiccuping sobs into Patton’s neck. “I didn’t m-mean any of that, I swear, I just- I’m sorry for not telling you. I was- I was scared.” 

“ _You_ were scared?” He could barely move his arms in the net, but Patton was doing enough clinging for both of them, limbs wrapped around him like a koala as he spoke. “When I realized that you’re actually a dragonwitch, I thought for sure that hunter was going to try and _kill_ you! Again! That’s two murder attempts too many!”

Virgil made a sound that was half-chuckle, half-sniffle, and set his chin on Patton’s shoulder. “You’re really not mad?”

“Yeah. I’m not mad.” Patton stuck his hand under the net’s grooves and combed his fingers through Virgil’s hair soothingly, barely hesitating over the ridges where his horns met his skull. “It’s okay. I… I get it, Virge. I forgive you.”

The simple statement set him off again, which set Patton off again, and they went through a whole second round of tears and snot before Virgil felt coherent enough to speak once more. 

“What are we gonna do with that guy?”

Patton pulled away from him slightly so they could both stare at the unconscious body of the hunter. The guy totally had a head wound. Looked like his thick skull _could_ be defeated after all. 

“Well…” Patton wiped a sleeve over his nose and then tapped his chin in consideration. “It’s been a while since we visited home. We could take him there. You could carry us there! Oh, we can travel places so fast now!” 

Virgil gave him a flat stare, ignoring the flying comment for the moment. “You want to take a Faerin Knight. To our _house._ ” 

“Well, I’d feel kind of bad leaving him here with a nasty head wound like that!” Patton said, as though he wasn’t the one who had caused the injury. Or, more likely, _because_ he was the one who had caused the injury. Virgil sighed. 

“Yeah, okay, fine. But I’m not going to like it. And he’s definitely not going to like it. And I’m _not_ babysitting him.”


	2. Heal-Face Turn

Prince Roman of Faerin woke up with his hands tied down to a couch and a bitching headache. One of these things was considerably more concerning than the other. 

He dragged himself into consciousness bit by bit, trying to figure out exactly what had happened, and then jerked up when his memory finally deigned to remind him that he’d been hit over the head with a rock. 

Seeing as he was tied to a couch with what felt like a truly grievous head wound, he got about three inches up before collapsing back to the soft cushions in agony. There was a resigned sigh nearby. 

“Up again, Princey?” a concerningly familiar voice asked. Roman craned his neck up again, headache be damned, and was rewarded with the deeply upsetting sight of the dragonwitch he’d been hunting for months sitting on the back of an armchair five feet away. 

Despite his casual greeting, the dragonwitch– his name had started with a ‘V’ but Roman felt a bit too concussed to recall properly– seemed surprised when Roman actually met his mismatched eyes. Not as surprised as Roman was to still be alive, but surprised nonetheless. 

“Oh,” the beast said, and then turned his body slightly to face an adjacent door, his balance shifting slightly where he was perched. “Hey, Pat, the fresh meat is awake. For real this time.” 

Roman abruptly felt all the blood drain from his face, realizing exactly why he’d been kept alive. The other human was still alive too, meaning that he was in on this sick and twisted plot. To think, he’d been fooled by those crocodile tears, that vulnerable disposition! Their acting skills were refined; how many innocents had they captured with such trickery? 

“Coming!” There were a few clatters from the other room, and then the person in question poked his head out from the doorway. Pat brightened at the sight of him, which made sense because they obviously wanted their victim alive and kicking for whatever torment was in store before… 

Roman’s eyes flicked back over to the dragonwitch, who was watching him keenly, and shuddered. Patton stepped into the room proper, wiping his hands off with a patterned dish towel. “Hey there, kiddo! Try to move slowly, your head isn’t fully healed yet.” 

Roman grunted a vague refusal and twisted his wrists around a few times, hoping to find some give in the knots tied round his arms. He believed he was being rather discreet about it, so he nearly jumped out of his skin when Pat hurried over to his side. Perhaps he was more injured than he’d thought. He flinched back, waiting for the restraints to be tightened or some punishment to be delivered for his disobedience. 

“Oh, I’m sorry about those,” the voice was dripping with remorse, nimble fingers pulling at the knots until they unravelled entirely. _Huh?_ “You’ve got a bad habit of sleep-walking, and sleep-talking, and sleep-other-things, especially with your concussion, so we had to keep you in place somehow. Otherwise you’d keep running into things, and then you’d never heal!” 

Roman snatched his hands back to himself and immediately scuttled backwards to the other side of the couch once he was freed, ignoring the way his head throbbed painfully. He looked up to find the dragonwitch hovering over Pat’s shoulder with narrowed eyes. Roman scowled right back, his hand dropping to the hilt of his knife— and meeting only air. 

He cursed internally. Of course they wouldn’t have left him armed. They were clearly well-practiced at abducting unwilling captives. 

“Looking for this, Princey?” the beast asked, and held up his hand, the dull edge of the blade tucked between two fingers. He flipped it into the air and caught it with a casual gesture, and Roman couldn’t help but clench his fists. If the dagger broke from such careless handling… 

“Give it back,” he demanded, his voice coming out rough and crackly. 

“Hmm, yeah, no.” The dragonwitch slouched against the nearby wall and began to balance the tip of the blade on his claw. “It’s confiscated until you learn how to play nice.”

Roman felt his face grow hot with rage, but was interrupted by Pat bustling over into his space, pressing a cool glass of water into his hand. “Here, you must be parched after all that sleeping!” 

He stared at the cup for a long moment, and then immediately tossed its contents directly into Pat’s face, soaking him. 

“I’m not taking anything from you, you evil, despicable traitor!” He threw the glass at Pat’s head for good measure, incensed. 

The dragonwitch appeared at their side like he’d teleported, the glass thunking into his hand like a ball to a mitt. “ _Hey,_ ” he growled, expression thunderous. 

Before he could really start tearing into Roman, metaphorically or literally, a hand patted at his side gently.

“It’s okay, Virgil. I won’t pretend that didn’t hurt my feelings, but we did kinda sorta technically kidnap him.” Pat pulled his glasses off, flicking them a couple times to try and get rid of the worst of the water. 

Once they were settled back on his face, he offered Roman another one of those earnest smiles. He looked like a soggy puppy, which shouldn’t be allowed considering he was abducting people to feed to a monster. 

“Let’s try this again,” he offered, extending a hand. “Hi! My name is Patton, and this is Virgil!” 

The dragonwitch looked like he was going to shatter the glass in his hand and use the glass pieces to filet him like a fish. Roman gave him his best sneer. “We’ve met.” 

“I think I liked you better when you were half-dead,” the beast muttered. Roman sneered harder. 

Patton continued to blink at him for a long moment, presumably waiting for him to introduce himself. Roman crossed his arms defiantly until the man retracted his hand. 

“Well, how are you feeling?” he asked, undeterred. Roman snorted derisively, trying to keep the hopelessness of the situation from overwhelming him.

“I’ve been abducted by a maniac who feeds his own kind to monsters, how do you think I feel?” he snapped, glancing at the windows. There was no way he’d make it before the dragonwitch pounced, but it was better than not trying to escape at all. 

“I— _what?_ ” Patton asked, mouth agape. Behind him, the beast’s face wrinkled in displeasure, probably from Roman having the gall to call him out. He tilted his chin up in challenge stubbornly. 

In the next moment, Patton giggled, slapping a hand over his mouth when they both turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, it’s just— what are you talking about, silly? Virgil isn’t going to eat you!” 

He cast a dubious glare at the dragonwitch in question, who rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a sharp-toothed, not-very-friendly smile, “I don’t like the taste of arrogant princes.”

“Virgil! Not helping!” Patton swatted at him, shaking his head wryly, and the monster ducked away with a slight twist of his lips. Roman watched with wary eyes, unable to believe it when the dragonwitch didn’t even bother to retaliate at the jab to his authority. Before, too, he’d subsided at Patton’s word despite being quite clearly furious.

He slowly leaned back against the couch, mind racing. It looked like he had misinterpreted the situation.

 _Clearly_ , Patton had to be a powerful evil mage to have enchanted a dragonwitch into this all-encompassing subservience with so little strain.

His manipulations went deep enough to even have the beast fooled into thinking they were friends, had him willing to die for the mage. He shuddered to imagine what the mage would do with a prince of Faerin as a puppet. 

That had to be avoided at all costs, Roman decided as he reluctantly allowed the evil mage in question to press another glass of probably-drugged water into his hand. He had to be more subtle about his rebellion, and he needed an ally. 

His gaze slid over to where the dragonwitch was in the process of perching on a windowsill much too small to serve as a proper seat. He was loathe to work with a monster, but… the enemy of his enemy was his friend, right? Or at the very least, if he could appeal to the beast’s desire for freedom, a potential distraction.

The next time Patton ducked back into the kitchen, he made direct eye contact with the dragonwitch and tipped the contents of his glass into a nearby houseplant. The beast snorted and rolled his eyes rudely, but made no move to stop him or tell Patton about his deceit. Roman let his lips curl up slightly. 

This just might work. 

-

The problem with trying to get through the dragonwitch’s brainwashing was that it required the dragonwitch to be alone with him long enough to actually have a conversation. 

Patton was always just around the corner, popping in on him, offering him food or books or other gifts like some sort of over-exuberant fae. Checking to make sure that he was still properly captive in the guise of fussing over his injuries, and all the while the dragonwitch lounged on some surface that wasn’t meant to be sat on, frustratingly out of range. 

In fact, the dragonwitch was only near him when he was escorting Roman to the bathroom, and he had exactly zero tolerance for any stalling tactics Roman tried. He’d picked up on the attachment Roman had to the dagger, and obviously wasn’t above using that to blackmail him into behaving. 

For days, he seethed under their constant surveillance, always bracing for the first signs of magic brainwashing to appear in him. It seemed as though Patton was perfectly content to enchant him at the mage’s own convenience, so he was simply left to wait in painful anticipation. 

His chance finally arrived early one morning when he woke to the sight of the dragonwitch sprawled across an armchair and the conspicuous absence of any noise from the kitchen. His eyes flicked between the beast and the doorway, wondering if this was his opportunity. The dragonwitch ignored his clear confusion, so he cleared his throat primly. 

“Where is Patton?” he asked shortly. 

The dragonwitch didn’t acknowledge him for a long moment, yawning leisurely and displaying vicious fangs. Then, 

“Pat’s out cutting wood.” 

A surge of excitement passed through him, clearing away any lingering sleepiness, and he sat up fully. He’d had more than enough time to consider how he would approach the subject. The first step to breaking a mage’s control was to force the creature to confront the fact that it was being controlled. 

“You know, whatever you want from me, you won’t get it,” he said without any preamble, putting on his best scowl. “You should just kill me already, put the both of us out of our misery. I’m sure a malignant monster like you is sick and tired of playing _nursemaid_ to a dragon slayer.” 

He looked the dragonwitch up and down derisively for good measure, internally cheering at the way a muscle in his cheek jumped with irritation. Naturally, the creature would have killed and/or devoured him by now if not for the mage’s bidding, so making him wonder _why_ exactly he wasn’t doing that would aid Roman’s quest greatly. 

“Nice try,” the dragonwitch said, idly inspecting his claws, “but no, we’re not killing you. We’ll figure out what to do with you eventually, but till then you’re stuck with us.”

Roman pretended that there wasn’t a shiver running down his spine at the words, instead forcing his expression into a twisted sort of pity. “Patton will figure out what to do with me eventually, you mean.” 

The beast raised an eyebrow. “No, I mean both of us. Pat can be awful soft sometimes. If it were up to him, he’d have you here forever, I’m sure. Be glad I’m here to remind him that you’re still a stubborn Faerin asshole.”

Roman forced back the surge of mixed nausea and fury, instead shaking his head despairingly. “Do you truly not see the truth? You foolish creature, that mage is clearly controlling you.” 

Those mismatched eyes stared at him for a long moment, slit pupils uncannily inhuman, and Roman felt the back of his neck prickle with sweat. After a moment, though, his head dropped forward, obscuring his expression as his shoulders began to shake. 

Roman leaned back, anticipating some kind of blow up. Had he done it? Was the creature awakened?

“Y– You think,” The dragonwitch started weakly, finally lifting his head. Roman gaped at the sight of his face, watching him wipe away mirth-filled tears. 

“You’re _LAUGHING?_ ” 

“You think– ha, oh my god– you think _Patton_ is a mage?” the dragonwitch continued, barely able to get the words out between stuttered, gasping laughter. “You think he’s the– ha ha, secret mastermind behind all of this?” 

His voice was mocking, and Roman flushed against his will. “Obviously! It’s– it’s the only explanation!” 

The dragonwitch only laughed harder. 

“Why else would you not be trying to kill me right now?!” Roman demanded, frazzled and thrown off-script. Like a flip had been switched, the laughter finally stopped short. 

The beast’s amusement dropped away, face shuttering back to that neutral displeasure. His body had gone tense, and Roman couldn’t help but shy back slightly, anticipating an attack at any moment. 

The silence was shattered by the front door swinging open, Patton stepping inside with an armful of freshly chopped wood. The dragonwitch rose sharply, turning on his heel and storming out the door with a curt, “Your turn on babysitting duty,” thrown over his shoulder. The door slammed behind him.

Patton immediately turned and leveled a disappointed look at Roman, who tried not to wilt. He was a grown adult, damn it! He was not going to cave to the discouraging gaze of his kidnapper! 

“What did you say to him?” Patton asked sternly as he carried the firewood over to the dwindling stack by the fireplace. Roman pointedly did not sulk. 

“I asked a perfectly reasonable question,” he said snippily, turning his nose up for effect. 

“Which was…?” 

Even if Patton really wasn’t a mage, his disheartened-parent voice was bafflingly accurate. 

“… I simply wished to know why he hadn’t taken the opportunity to kill me. Assuming you aren’t some kind of puppeteer– which I’m am still undecided on, by the way– there’s no reason he shouldn’t take my life for threatening him. You aren’t strong enough to stop him, and my unconscious body certainly couldn’t.” 

Patton sighed, shoulders slumping as he walked over to sit in the rocking chair next to Roman’s couch jail. His face looked deeply weary for a moment, making him seem much older. He began to draw nonsensical lines on his palm with one hand.

“Roman, let me tell you a story,” he started, and despite himself, Roman leaned in to listen. He’d always been a sucker for traveler tales. “It’s about a boy who was part of a big, loving family, living a joyful life in a little town named Port Greyson.” 

The name hit him like a pommel to the gut. He stiffened abruptly, eyes wide. “Who told you this story?” he demanded, voice wavering slightly. 

If Virgil had been the one to torch his home, to kill his best friend, there would be no forgiveness. He would strike the beast down or die trying.

Patton’s eyes flicked up at his tone, but he didn’t answer, still tracing patterns on himself. 

“The boy’s name was Patton.” Patton continued, voice carefully measured, and _what_? There had been other survivors? 

“He was happy until the day the calamity fell, and his family was killed before his eyes, trying to protect him.” Roman closed his mouth with an audible click. “He ran and ran and ran but the fires spread _so fast,_ and he was sure he’d die and his family’s sacrifice would be in vain.

“And then… an angel.” Patton said, a sad smile on his lips. “Barreling through the flames as though they couldn’t even touch him, eyes wild, searching for someone to save. And I was that someone.” 

Roman started to get an idea of where this was going. “A dragonwitch. Your dragonwitch.” 

“My best friend,” Patton confirmed, folding his hands over each other. “He’s all the family I have left, at this point.” 

“He– He was there?” Roman asked, a thousand conflicting thoughts piling up in his head. “How do you know– What if he was the one who set it all aflame in the first place?” 

To his surprise, Patton didn’t glare at him for the implication. He seemed oddly far away. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen him, that day. He got me out and tried to run right back in, even though his face was covered in ash and his skin was peeling and burning. He stayed in human form the whole time, no doubt because he knew any survivors would be terrified of an approaching dragonwitch, no matter what his intentions were.” He visibly forced his mind back to the present.

“Even so, I know for absolute sure that it wasn’t him because I saw the one who did it.”

Roman’s whole body tensed up, all of his attention on Patton. This was the moment where he would figure out if the man was a simple monster sympathizer, lying about everything… or a genuine survivor of the worst day of Roman’s life. “Tell me.” 

“It was a dragon,” Patton recalled, and his hands finally stilled. “A huge one, black as night, that shook the ground like an earthquake when it landed. It took my family too long to understand what was going on, but by the time we figured it out, our house was already beginning to collapse, the air around us hot enough to burn. I-“ 

His mouth trembled for a moment, but he pushed on, words stilted. “I was barely thirteen years, the baby of the family. My parents and my older siblings carried me through the forge-hot fires, and I was passed from hand to hand until there was no one left to hold me. The dragon– I could hear it call out nearby the entire time, cries unearthly—“ 

“— and full of rage,” Roman finished, echoes of the sound ringing in his ears. “I hear it in my nightmares.” 

“You were there?” Patton asked, a new understanding lighting in his eyes. Roman nodded, slowly. 

“I was. On the… the outskirts. But I didn’t see the beast until it fled, and it looked— small. Adolescent. You’re certain—?”

“It might be that I misremembered it’s size, since I was smaller then, but I’m sure it wasn’t Virgil,” Patton cut him off sternly, before softening slightly. “Super extra sure since now I’ve seen his dragon form! He’s all purple.”

The half-form had had wings and a tail that were much the same, Roman knew. He paused. “Wait, he was in his true form? When did you see that?”

Dragonwitches took that form to destroy, to burn towns and people alike to the ground. Why had Virgil taken it? What had he done while Roman was unconscious? 

“When we were flying you back here, of course! He’s so cute, you wouldn’t believe it!” Patton gushed, flapping his hands. Roman’s panicked thoughts ground to an abrupt halt at the idea of being carried by a _dragon._

“And he didn’t drop me?” he muttered unthinkingly, shivering at the idea of waking up to the landscape far, far below. 

A light smack on his arm made him jolt, and he looked up to meet Patton’s scolding expression. “That’s why he left, y’know. You treat him like a ticking time bomb instead of a person.” 

“Because he’s not a person! He’s a dragonwitch!” Roman blurted, his hands coming up to clutch at his hair in frustration. “Dragonwitches are _evil,_ their powers are corrupting and they terrorize and pillage and kill innocent people! Every last one! You should _know_ this!” _You witnessed it yourself_ , he doesn’t say.

Patton looked at him with blatant pity, slowly reaching out and tugging lightly on his wrists until he stopped pulling at his hair. “You and I are living proof that that’s not true,” he said, voice quiet but resolved. Roman shook his head, not even sure what he was disagreeing with at this point. “I can’t change your mind for you, Roman.

“I know what it’s like to lose important people and want to hurt those you deem responsible. But Virgil has been hunted by humans his whole life, and he still cares for me to the point of self-destruction. He still looked after you when you were suffering the effects of your injury.” 

“He— what?” Roman thought about the cool hands on his head, the gentle murmured reassurances when he whined, and his cheeks flared up with embarrassment. “I thought that was you.”

“You spent a lot of time lashing out at anyone who woke you,” Patton explained easily. “Virgil wouldn’t let me near. He did a good job looking after you, though.”

 _A soothing hum as he mumbled half-formed thoughts, a hand gripping his as he cried out at the memories playing out in his dreams._ Virgil’s words from before rang in his head. _“I think I liked you better when you were half-dead.”_

“Well,” Roman said, thoroughly nonplussed. “That’s… embarrassing.” 

“Just a little bit,” Patton agreed with a grin, patting the back of his hand. He hummed thoughtfully. “How about this: I’ll make you a deal! The non-magic kind.” He winked teasingly, and some of the color returned to Roman’s cheeks.

“I’m beginning to get the feeling I will never live that assumption down,” he grumped. “… What kind of deal?” 

“Virgil told me he thought you were a skinseller, because you were looking for a specific scale color.” Patton nodded at Roman’s expression of disgust at the idea. “I thought there was probably something different going on, and I’ve got a fair idea now, I think. So, I’ll offer this!

“We know a wizard who does business with dragonwitches. If our dragon has been active anywhere in that area, they’ll have gone to get information or materials from the wizard.” Roman felt a thrum of anticipation in his chest. This was the most concrete lead he’d gotten in ages. 

“We’ll take you there, on one condition,” Patton said, holding up one finger. “I want you to reconsider what you’ve been told about dragonwitches, and give Virgil a chance.” 

“That’s technically two things,” Roman pointed out, just to be difficult. Patton raised both eyebrows at him. “But, yeah, I… I can do that. 

“It’s a deal.”


End file.
